I am Yvonne and I Wannabe
by Imladviel
Summary: Harry Potter's annoying cousin, Yvonne, is determined that she will join the Fellowship of the Ring... no matter what it takes. But perhaps she should have read the book first...
1. Reasoning with the Dursleys

"_**I am Yvonne and I wannabe**_

_...love to Legolas, friend to Frodo, allure to Aragorn, agony to Arwen."_ And the worst of it, she actually has the means to join the Fellowship! But perhaps she ought to have read the book, first... This old, as-yet-unfinished story was intended as a parody of Mary Sue Fanfics, but it is much milder than most such satirical fanfics you'll find on this website. Also, to conserve my sanity and ability to write grammatically correct English, Yvonne is actually quite literate and her main linguistical failing is excessive punctuation.

**Chapter one: a Crossover to begin with...**

_Dear livejournal readers, _

I will be taking a vacation. I may be able to update now and then, but mostly the next month for me will be spent hiking in England and Wales.

If I fail in plan A, that is. Plan A I can share with you only because I know you either will not believe it or will not dare tell anyone, because they would think that you are as mad as I to believe such a thing.

My plan A is to join the Fellowship of the Ring in Rivendell and spend a month on the road with them. I will go hiking in Middle-Earth!

You see, I have this British cousin who can do Magic. I don't know him well, but we used to write letters four years ago, before he learned he knows magic. He is three years younger than me, so it was nothing but friendly letters... and he is my cousin too, although distant. I'll go and phone him now. He has no email, can you believe it?

_Yours, Yvonne_

**later in the day...**

Yes! I did it! But let me tell it in order. I phoned his family, long-distance as I live in Boston, so we could only talk a moment. His aunt answered the phone.

Hallo?' Her voice sounded very British, all proper manners and starch.

'Hi, Mrs Dursley. This is Yvonne speaking. Yvonne Potter.' I told her.

'Oh, hello. What do you want?' The tone of her voice was petulant, as if I had been a magazine salesman.

'I'd like to have a word with Harry, if I may?' I asked, using my most polite voice that I usually reserve for talking to teachers.

'Oh. What about?' She inquired, a gossip as ever.

'I'd like to see him next week. I'll be coming to England anyway, hiking you know, and I would like to see my only relative there.' I explained, trying to make it sound logical and harmless.

'Ain't much of a relative, third cousin of yours or somesuch. And you are no relative of ours at all.' She told me. The Dursley family is related to me through Aunt Petunia's sister Lily Evans, more specifically her husband James Potter, Harry's father. Harry's great-great grandfather, Alastair Potter, is also my great-great grandfather. Harry is descended from his first marriage to the Italian witch Mirabella Dinardi, and I am descended from his second marriage, after Mirabella was killed by a wild dragon and Alastair emigrated across the Atlantic, to a West Virginia schoolteacher called Dorothy Dollmaker.

'I wouldn't dream of bothering you, Mrs Dursley! I'll just come straight from London for an afternoon, no need to serve tea or anything, I could take Harry out for ice cream or something, and then I'll be on my way.' I explained, with a slight note of panic in my voice.

'Oh. But perhaps he doesn't even remember you. It's been long since you wrote those letters.' Petunia Dursley tried to find more reasons why we shouldn't meet. I remembered Harry's letters – Petunia and Vernon, Harry's adopted parents, had not wished Harry to have friends of his own, any fun hobbies or toys, and especially no contact with his Potter relatives or the friends of James and Lily. James and Lily died in a car crash when Harry was a baby, and since then, he's been looked after – and mistreated by – his closest living relatives, the Dursley family.

'Only one way to find out, isn't there? I will ask him. If he doesn't want me, naturally I won't come.' I suggested. As you can see from her comments, Mrs Dursley is not very polite, at least not to anyone named Potter. But she did give the phone to Harry:

'Harry Potter speaking.' He sounded grown-up, or close – I remembered he would be fifteen now.

'Hello, this is Yvonne. Your cousin from Boston. Remember me?' I asked, dreading a negative reply.

'Wait a minute - yes, you were my "foreign penpal" in that geography assignment when I was in elementary school, right?' He sounded a bit uncertain.

'That's right. I will be spending a month in England and Wales. Would you like to see me next Tuesday? Any time after five pm would be fine for me.' I told him.

'I'll have to ask -' He began, hesitantly. '

I already did.' I assured him.

'And?' He inquired.

'She didn't get the opportunity to say no, so I'll turn up anyway. Let's say half past five unless you have some obstacle.'I suggested.

'Sounds fine.' He told me.

Then Aunt Petunia took the phone and ranted at me a long litany of things I was not allowed to do with my cousin Harry on our 'date', as she called it. This included kissing, holding hands, going to the movies, going anywhere other than the Gelateria cafe and the Dursley home, riding a bus, taking a cab, using any form of transport other than walking, going to see Harry's former school, going to meet any of Harry's friends, going to meet any of my friends, talking to any strangers other than the Gelateria staff, and so on. I agreed to all of her rules, just to shut her up, and finally told her I had to close the phone because the call was long-distance. And yes, that is how I manipulated my way to meet Harry Potter.


	2. Harry Potter's Magic Ring

**Tuesday:**

Thank goodness Dudley Dursley has a computer! Of course I got no permission to use it, but Harry says he sneaks in all the time... the Dursleys are not home right now, although we thought they would be sure to stay here to keep watch and make sure I don't try anything improper with Harry. As if! He is my cousin, for heaven's sake!

Again, I'll have to begin at the beginning:

I took Harry out for ice cream, after we had endured Dudley's jokes about dating older women - I am seventeen, for heaven's sake! The cretin must be jealous, as I am quite attractive...

I had triple chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Harry had a single scoop of pistachio ice cream with strawberry-flavored sprinkles. Harry's portion looked insane, all pink and green, but he assured me it was delicious.

After we had talked this and that - renewed our acquaintance, as the British would say, I made my confession:  
>'Harry, I need your help.'<p>

'My help?' He asked.

'It's a kind of a public secret that you are a wizard.' I told him. I had discovered this when I did some family research four years ago, to find out about my British roots. I had found my great-great grandmother's journal in a forgotten attic box. In the journal, she told everything about Alastair Potter, Mirabella Dinardi, and herself – Alastair hadn't kept any secrets from his young wife. I found out that magic existed, and was determined to learn more about it. With the journal was an address book, and one of the addresses in it was in Scotland, and titled: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wrote a letter to that address, explaining about the journal – I even took some photocopies of pages relating to the journal, as well as of pages in the address book with the names and addresses of people that the journal called witches and wizards. I remember there was a Newton Scamander listed as 'Headmaster of Hogwarts', and an Arcturus Black listed as 'Slytherin Seeker 1897-1899, current address unknown'. I told them that I was curious to learn more about my ancestor Alastair Potter and his family, and asked the school staff if he had any living descendants other than my cousin Harry. I also asked if it would be possible for me to study in Hogwarts.

I got back a polite reply from someone called Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster. He told me he regretted to inform me that Harry was the last of the Potter family on British soil, but assured me that Harry was one of the best students the school had ever had, and would no doubt have a wonderful career after he graduated. He gave me his fondest regards, a brochure of the school with pictures that moved by magic, and some non-magical photos of awards in the Hogwarts Trophy Room, and the wedding photo of Mirabella Dinardi and Alastair Potter, both a magical version where they kissed, and an unmagical one. It seemed Mirabella Dinardi had been Prefect, Head Girl, and a competitor in the Triwizard Tournament, whatever that was. She had also won a Quidditch award for Best New Player of the year.

Professor Dumbledore sent me gifts too: a box of the best butterscotch toffee I've ever eaten – I haven't been able to find that brand in any store, even in London! - and a small booklet about the magical game called Quidditch, with animated illustrations. He implored me not to show what he sent to anyone, except the award photos and the unmagical wedding photo – those I was allowed to share with my family, and if I planned to write some publication about my family history, I would be allowed to use the wedding photo as illustration. He even suggested I could take a photo with my own camera of the magical brochure, opened on the Dorms page, and the enchanted photos, and publish that in any way I wished. Professor Dumbledore's letter was full of praise of Harry, and delight in having met someone related to him.

He told me that the USA had its own school of magic, and that school sent letters to all 11-year-olds it considered suitable to become its students. He did not give me the school's name. Anyways, back to Harry and the present day:

'Oh, that. But I'm forbidden to use magic on holidays.' He said, ruefully.

'Dang!' I almost-swore.

'What is your problem? Perhaps we can find someone to help you.' He suggested.

'I rather doubt it. You see, I would like to go inside a movie. The Fellowship of the Ring. I would like to join them. Have you seen it, and the sequel? It's just plain superb, and there will be a third one in December, 'The Return of the Ring', or somesuch.' I told him.

'No, but I've read the book.' He answered.

'What book? Oh, 'The Making of FotR'? Or 'A Guide to the Movie?'' I asked, not sure what he meant.

'No, Yvonne. 'The Lord of the Rings' by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. You really didn't know it's all based on a book?' His voice was excessively patient now, very British.

'Oh, I forgot. But my friend Jennifer, who saw the movies three times, can you believe, she did mention she was reading it. It was she who gave me this daydream.' I told him.

'Well, as far as I know one cannot go inside a movie by magic, unless the film is developed in magical liquids. And it would be illegal to use copyrighted material that way, I hear. Not to mention it would be against wizard laws. But in this case, it would be possible to go inside a book, because books are magical in themselves. All we need is a 'fantasy ring'.' He told me, sounding a lot like my father when he explains science to me.

'A ring? How wonderful! But where can we get one?' I asked him.

'By mail order, how else? Let's go back to our place.' He suggested.

We went to the Dursley home, me mumbling some excuse about wanting to see Harry's room, and he wrote something on a piece of paper and gave it to his owl for delivery. Soon that ghastly creature returned with a tiny parcel, and a slip of paper Harry quickly put away.

'What was it?' I asked, curious as ever.

'The bill, of course. You think magical objects grow in trees?' He asked in his rhetorical I'm-a-smart-wizard-and-you're-just-a-Muggle-voice.

'Well, no. But how much do I owe you?' I wanted to know.

'Nothing in dollars, a considerable amount of gold sicles, so if you ever obtain any wizard money you may be able to repay me! But if you give the ring back to me after your adventure, I can sell it again or keep it, and all you will owe me is a favour, which I think you'll agree will not be a problem, since I'm not particular about the type of favour owed. Let's just keep the favour in store for if I ever travel to Boston!' He suggested, and the way he said it made me think that in a few years' time it would be lovely to show the grown-up Harry the sights of Boston and New York.

'How does it work?' I asked.

'You take the book you wish to enter, go somewhere where no muggles can see you, open it on the page where you wish to join in, put the ring on your finger, and see that it stays put or pick another finger that it fits better, and then you touch the page with the ringed finger exactly at the point you want to join the story, and read the words right before it. Between paraghraphs is usually a good place. But I really think you ought to read the book before you do it.' He said firmly.

'First I'll have to buy the book!' I exclaimed, disappointed.

'No, I can lend you mine. Believe it or not, I got it from Dudley!' He told me.

'No way!' I hadn't thought Dudley to be a book person.

'Yes, he threw it at me. Missed and broke a vase instead. But the book, that he never missed.' We both laughed.

'Oh, I didn't know it would be so thick! I have no time to read it, I have only a month before school begins again.' I exclaimed, holding a paperback the size of a brick.

'It is very unsafe to enter a book you haven't read.' He cautioned me.

'I've seen the movies. And Jennifer told me some of the plot differences.' I assured him.

'Very well. But at least we must find the place for you to enter. What did you have in mind?'

'Rivendell. I could be the tenth member of the Fellowship.' I suggested.

'You think they would take you? Elrond and everyone? I advise you to join them some way after Rivendell, in perilous lands and at night-time. Then they have no choice but to protect a young girl.' He told me, and I had to admit he had a good point.

'Show me a place, and put a bookmark to it.' I asked him.

And so we found a place, right after these words of Legolas: "...they are gone. They sought the Havens long ago." And Harry told me the place was called Eregion, and it might be useful to remember it. He also told me that the means of returning would be simple, just remove the ring, but if I removed it too early, I could not return where I had been, or if I did, I would find no traces of my previous presence in anyone's memory. All the alterations I might cause in the story, he said, were temporary. The books on our world would not suddenly contain my name; all I did was imaginary, a dream, to everyone else but myself. For I really would be gone a month, or any time I chose.

I asked Harry is he had ever done this himself. He said no, because he was forbidden even the use of magical objects on school holidays, and while in school he never had the time. But this was the big breach in the laws: nobody could prevent Harry from buying the ring, nor me from using it, since I am no student witch. Neither am I a common muggle, for I knew everything about aunt Lily. I never got that invitation to a school of magic, I wonder why...

And now I sit here writing in Dudley's room, which is very messy and smells of socks, by the way. Harry's room is much nicer, although it doesn't have a lot of furniture. The night I will spend at a youth hostel, tomorrow I will begin my walk. To Middle-Earth! 


	3. Yvonne meets the Fellowship

_Hello,_

_I'm writing this in a notebook. Feels weird to write with a pen._

The first thing I noticed when I put the ring on my finger was the silence. One moment I sat under a tree in the British countryside, birds singing and all, the next I'm on this rocky hillside and not a sound to be heard. And then a voice spoke to me. A melodic, sweet tenor voice.

'And who would you be?' He asked.

'Legolas?' I did not dare turn – I pictured him with his bow drawn, an arrow aimed at my heart.

'No, you are not Legolas. I know Legolas and he doesn't look like you at all.' I turned, and saw a hobbit. Red cheeks, curly blond hair, hairy feet, brown clothes.

'No, I meant, well, never you mind. My name is Yvonne.'

'Are you a girl?' I noticed he was staring at me.

'Of course I am. What a stupid question.'

He blushed. 'I'm sorry. It's just that where I come from, girls don't wear trousers. I do beg your pardon, miss. My name is Sam Gamgee, by the way.' He offered me his grubby little hand. After a brief hesitation I bent down, shook it and managed a 'Pleased to meet you.'

While we were talking the others had heard us, so that I was now surrounded by the Fellowship of the Ring. Gandalf with a tall pointed hat, a grey beard and a long staff. Three hobbits, two very much alike, and a smaller one with lighter hair. Gimli, who glared at me so suspiciously I turned away in a hurry – to face him. A charismatic man, tall, blue-eyed, rough beard-stubble giving his face a reckless appearance. My heart sang _aniron, aniron, aniron Elessar_… beside him Boromir, a somewhat surly and suspicious character. And last of all I saw the one whose meeting I had desired and dreaded the most. Legolas. It had to be him.

But I wanted to shout: it is all wrong. He had short black hair, sharp features that did not resemble Orlando Bloom at all, and something in his eyes that was even worse than Boromir's icy indifference or Gimli's distrust. He looked at me as if he knew every daydream I had ever dreamed of him, and laughed at them silently. Gandalf spoke first: 'We heard you conversing with Sam. Why are you here, and how did you know to seek Legolas here?'

'I… well, there is this ring…' Everyone tensed and their hands went to their weapons. In a flash I had Legolas' arrow pointing – directly between my eyes.

'…This ring my friend gave me. Look. It is magic. It brought me here.' I raised my hand.

'Who gave it to you?' Gandalf asked.

'My friend Harry Potter. He's a wizard.'

'I know of no wizard with such a name. Where does he live?'

'Far away. In another world.'

'Is he known by any other name? Such as… Saruman?'

'No! I know he is not Saruman. He lives far, far away. You need not trouble about him. He isn't evil. And he's very young.'

'A young wizard… hard to credit such a claim, yet hard to discredit it also. After all, you seem to have appeared here from nowhere. Can you do it again? Appear and disappear at any place you wish?'

I thought hard. If I told the truth, they would send me home. 'No. I can only disappear and never return. Please, please don't make me do it. My world is nothing compared to yours! It is empty and horrible. I want to live, truly live, even for a while. I would rather you kill me than send me back!' I wailed. I guess I overreacted but what the heck, it worked.

'Nobody's killing you, lady.' Legolas spoke, lowering the bow. I swear Gimli muttered '…yet.'

'But surely you cannot expect us to take you with us?' Aragorn asked.

'What else can I do? Must I walk alone in this wilderness?'

'You could go back where you came from the same way you came here.'

'But…' I tried to think of a reason they should accept me. When I found it, it was obvious. 'I know your future. I may help you change it. He is in danger.' I pointed at Boromir.

'You know who I am?'

'I know you all. Your names are Gandalf the Grey, Legolas Greenleaf, Gimli son of Glóin, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Boromir son of Denethor, Frodo Baggins, Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, and Sam Gamgee, the only one polite enough to introduce himself!' The hobbits seemed impressed. One, I noted, put his hand on something under his shirt that could have been a ring on a chain.

'Sam, did you go and tell her everything?' He asked.

'No, I swear I didn't, master Frodo.'

'All right, young lady. I can see no other means than magic for you knowing this. I suspect you know many other things you would be better off not knowing. We must keep you with us, if only to prevent our enemies learning our secrets. First of all, you must not mention Frodo's last name. You must not speak about our journey and its purposes to anyone. You must do what you are told. Is this understood?' Gandalf asked.

'Yes, sir.'

'Very well. Now, put some clothes on. I won't ask what are you doing walking around half-naked this time of the year anyway.'

Half-naked! I was wearing jeans and a top, but I must admit it was rather chilly. I hid behind a stone and rummaged my back bag for a sweater and a long skirt. When I returned I noted that Boromir was no longer acting as if I didn't exist. He smiled at me and said: 'Much better. We don't care how drab and simple your garb is, as long as it's decent.' Drab! Simple! I truly considered taking off the ring and trying again later, perhaps showing them what half-naked means where I come from… But of course it would be a different fellowship, and maybe they would shoot first and ask questions later…


End file.
